


Let Us Be Lovers (We'll Marry Our Fortunes Together)

by innie



Category: Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21928420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innie/pseuds/innie
Summary: Meg is loved. John is too.
Relationships: John Brooke/Margaret March
Comments: 14
Kudos: 70
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Let Us Be Lovers (We'll Marry Our Fortunes Together)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tosca1390](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/gifts).



> John is my favorite, and it looks like Meg is yours? Happy Yuletide, tosca1390!
> 
> (Title from Simon and Garfunkel's "America")

John had never had eyes for anyone but Meg, _Miss March_ when she put on her dignity to pay calls, but _Margaret_ when he dreamt of her while lying in his narrow bed ringed round by books. Hers was the sweetest voice of all that he heard when Laurie was at play; he would set the next day's lessons as his pupil romped with Jo and her sisters laughed at their innocent mischief.

He did not want to join in, precisely — they were a charmed band and their camaraderie was based on ties in which he had no part — but he still longed to catch her eye when next she glanced up and show her that she had but to take a step over the threshold to find a new world, his entire life and soul, waiting for her.

Margaret was a dream made flesh and spirit, made into his torment. Could he bring himself to speak, to break the maidenly reserve that had shielded her, despite her beauty, from importunate suitors? He did not think he would dare.

*

He had dared, and won through, and Margaret, strong and bright and sweet, was his. But that was not the way of it, truly. His daring was only exposing his own heart to her, offering it up for her to shelter or scorn, and she was not his possession but rather his partner for the years ahead.

But her mother and sisters had been her entire world for so long, that it was no wonder that the April freshness of an affectionate daughter and sister clung to her even when she was in his arms; it was the only perfume his bride in her homemade gown wore as she frowned prettily at the cravat she was tying round his throat. Of course his hands shook when at last he made his pledge to love and honor and uplift her, and his astonished ardor only grew when he saw that she, making her vows under her father's eye, was evidently beset by no such stubborn fears of unworthiness.

He folded her hand in his own still jittery one as they smiled at their guests, dancing round them in circles, savored the warmth of her nestled confidingly close. Her face was bright and alive with merriment, turned up to his with a winning air of contentment. This was the woman he would get to make happy for the rest of their days.

*

He matched his steps to hers as they wended their way to their new home in the glorious June afternoon. Meg's step was light and untroubled, her hands full of the maiden-pure bells of lily of the valley, and he was once again assailed by doubts, that he, who had been alone for so long, was the guide this beloved girl was trusting to lead her through the coming years.

He was a husband now, and his first duty was to cherish his wife, whether or not she had any notion of what the night ahead might hold. He opened the gate of their little house and followed in her wake as she stepped into the hall.

"There!" she said, the dimples round her mouth distracting him utterly from what her hands had been busily working on. "I wanted that to be the first thing I did for you in our home, John." She had fetched a vase from who only knew where and put her bridal bouquet, that vibrant thing, in it to keep it verdant and glowing. "We'll keep flowers here always."

"Meg —" he said, and stepping to her, tried to kiss her as the perfume of his favorite flowers filled the air. "My Meg," he said, untying the bonnet that was hindering his best efforts.

"John," she said, unencumbered, and rose to her tiptoes to kiss him back.

*

He had not thought, in all his fever dreams, that he might first worship her body with his in the daylight, the sun pouring like honey through their own windows. Meg had laid one warm hand in his and followed him up the stairs to their bedroom without a murmur, and he was intensely glad that they were alone in their little house, with nary a servant or visitor to break the intimacy of their private happiness. There was no space to separate and come back together with any sort of mystery or ceremony, and John gathered his bride in his arms and kissed her again.

Meg was evidently content to be kissed for long minutes. Her mouth was sweet and tart at once, captivating him. Her industrious fingers were making short work of his cravat in a pleasing symmetry to what she'd done only hours before. He felt compelled to follow suit, but did not want to startle her by making inroads on her gown; her hair, he decided, would do very well for his overture. The bonnet he'd discarded in the hall below had only slightly crushed the pretty braids that were looped and twined most distractingly. Unpinning them and easing them down was a task lengthened by Meg's mouth at the hinge of his jaw. He threaded his fingers through them, loosening them and wafting the fragrance of the flowers she'd worn in her hair throughout the warmth of their bedroom. The brown curls hung nearly to her waist in a pretty profusion.

She was pushing his coat from his shoulders, evidently at ease with men's garments; he remembered all at once that his bride had been an amateur actress not so many years before, that she must have aided her sister in donning and doffing hero's and villain's costumes alike. Her hands were swift, no shirt button left done, but she paused before disrobing him entirely. He swallowed when she brought his hands up to the fastenings of her gown, clearly unafraid.

John obliged her by working his way down the line, unfastening each in turn and allowing her to step out of the gown so that she stood in just her chemise and stockings. Holding his gaze, she removed them as well and let the sunlight drench her skin in gold. "The way you look at me, John," she said then, and her voice had never sounded sweeter to him. "My handsome husband, my darling John."

"Meg," he said hoarsely, uncaring where his clothing landed as he could not tear his eyes from his wife. All he could see was her luxurious skin, the shape of her body that had never known the iron touch of a corset. So must Eve have looked in the Garden, unashamed and loving, and he could not reach her quickly enough. He knew only how to touch dumbly, had wanted to learn along with her of the joys of the marital bed, and she fit in his arms as if she'd been made for him.

All of that ravishing skin was hot against his, the softness of her a delight. She tipped her face up again for his look, for his kiss, and he bent to do her will. Her mouth felt hotter now, the pink of her lips so fiercely flushed he would credit it if they left a matching hue wherever they touched his flesh. Meg was spilling forth kisses like an upended jug would pour out sweet water, and his fingers tangled in her hair to cup her skull and keep her in place for one consuming kiss that threatened to burn him up from the inside.

She was panting by the time he freed her mouth, her eyes glowing with joy, and he felt ten feet tall, that he had done that for her. She took his hand again and guided it to her neck, slim and elegant and shifting with each quick breath. "Touch me the way you look at me," she asked.

All he wanted was to obey his wife. He skimmed along the perfect cream of her skin, smoothing down her shoulder, lingering on a rosy-tipped breast, tracing every curve and plane of her beauty. "John?" she asked.

"Margaret, my Meg," he answered her, his caresses growing firmer as his hands became accustomed to the astonishing richness of her flesh.

"May I do the same?" she asked with a pretty boldness. He picked her up, reveling in the sensations of so much more of her touching more of him.

"I wish you would, Mrs. Brooke," he said, settling her on the bed and following after, drawn down by her hand on his nape and chasing the laughter in her moan.


End file.
